Of teapots and cunning plans
by thecurlyone
Summary: The Master can't sleep, fortunately he has a cunning plan


The Master was seriously reconsidering his decision to start sleeping with the Doctor again.

It's not the sex, that's as good as ever. Not that he's going to tell the Doctor that, he may moan it accidentally but no one paid much attention to anything said during sex, do they?

No the main problem was the Master couldn't get any blasted sleep at night. No matter where he was in the TARDIS, he invariably ended up having to spend the night in the Doctor's bedroom because the minute he began to feel sleepy, all the other bedroom doors in the TARDIS would seal themselves shut. As well as any other room in which he could feasibly sleep in. The Doctor, apparently, had nothing to do with it.

All the TARDIS' own doing.

Apparently.

The fact is it's just pointless for them to sleep together. Between the drums and the Doctor's guilt over the various genocides, they spend the time tossing and turning and not sleeping.

Both of them are getting quite irritable. The sniping at each other was nothing new, in fact the Master had been bored enough to make a pie chart of how he spent his time. Sniping at each other took up approximately a fifth of his waking hours.

Still, even he thinks it has gotten a bit much, especially since the Doctor spent 34.578 minutes shouting at him yesterday for stirring his tea too slowly.

The Doctor shouting at him doesn't bother him that much. But the reality of the situation is that he is a prisoner and he is hoping to get outside (and escape) because of his good behaviour at some point in the future.

The thing was, though, if things stayed the way they were he is going to snap and throttle the Doctor and then he is going to be trapped in the TARDIS for whatever tedious amount of time it takes for him to get around whatever hodgepodge of security the Doctor had thrown together to prevent the Master's escape attempts.

Clearly some plotting is required.

*****

Drugging the Doctor was out, since the Master didn't even have access to the milk.

Hitting him over the head with something hard was out too. The Doctor had removed most of heavy objects, leaving only those too heavy to lift. Everything else had been replaced by soft, plush things. Drinking tea while sitting in a bean bag chair was an acquired skill but the Master adapted.

All the shagging wasn't helping them get a good night's sleep.

Talking about it wasn't going to help, most likely because the minute the Master tried to talk about their "relationship" the Doctor would dash off and hide for a few liner days in some part of the TARDIS the Master refused to set foot in.

Tying the Doctor to the bed wasn't an option, yet.

Calling the whole thing off seemed to be his only viable option.

*****

"Doctor" he began, over their breakfast of mostly marmalade.

"Hmm?" the Doctor hummed around his spoon.

"I think we should see other people."

The yelp the Doctor made was well worth a few sleepless nights. Shame about the marmalade though, that was the last pot.

"You'll have to go shopping now" the Master remarks, looking down at the smashed glass and sticky goo that will probably still be on the floor in another hundred years time.

The Doctor seems to have been rendered speechless; the Master likes him his way.

He gets up to leave the breakfast table and the Doctor grabs his arm and gives him the pleading puppy dog look. Still speechless it seems the Master should dump him more often if he gets this response.

He extracts his arm from the Doctor's fingers.

"Sorry, darling, we tried. Still we'll always have the memories."

He bites his fist to keep from sniggering as he's leaving the kitchen.

*****

Unfortunately there are some unforeseen consequences. The Master thought that the Doctor would mope and then be distracted by something shiny and that would the last he would hear of it for at least 40 years.

Not so unfortunately, as the copious amounts of shiny things that the Master left innocuously in the Doctor's way did not managed to distract him from misery.

Worse still, the TARDIS seemed to have joined the Doctor in his moping and everything around the TARDIS was just a little drearier because of it. It was nothing overt, just a million little niggly things that were driving the Master even more insane.

The lighting was just a little too low, the heating likewise. The tea was just a little too weak. His sheets weren't soft enough. His white shirts were a little too far off-white for his liking.

Clearly even more plotting was to be done.

*****

It became apparent after a morning of plotting (and abysmal tea) that he was going to have to talk to the Doctor.

Two problems immediately came to mind:

This would require a degree of telling the truth, talking about his feelings and various aspects of his (relative) past, present and future "relationship" with the Doctor. Something he hates very much.

If possible the Doctor hates it even more and will make every attempt to flee.

Clearly some cunning is required.

When that doesn't work, the Master resorts to some good old fashioned violence.

He tackles the Doctor in the kitchen, hits him over the head with an empty teapot and ties him to the kitchen cupboards with some of his ties.

The teapot doesn't succeed in knocking him out, but he is quite woozy for a while and in no state for a serious conversation. To pass the time the Master makes tea in the now rather dented teapot.

He still doesn't have access to anything in the kitchen so he's forced to drink his tea black and sugarless. A good metaphor for their relationship, the Master supposes. Then he discards this idea, their "relationship" defies all understanding (particularly his own) even the metaphorical kind.

Anyway, the Doctor's started to come around now and is struggling to get free from the cupboards. He looks extremely ridiculous; every time he pulls on the ties a cupboard door swings open and hits him. After about 20 seconds of this wriggling, he must realise that the Master has divested him of his sonic screwdriver. He starts struggling twice as hard after this and the Master is quite happily to let him do so and laugh at him.

Finally he stops when he and turns the puppy dog eyes on him.

"Please, Master, don't do this."

"Don't do what?" The Master asks innocently.

"The whole running away, blowing up galaxies. I'm not going to let you out even if you torture me."

The Master snickers at this, "torture? My Doctor what an active imagination you have."

The Doctor frowns, confused.

"What then?"

"I want some sleep." No sense in beating around the bush.

"Umm..."

"I can't get any sleep in the same bed as you and I know you desperately need hugs and cuddles to sooth that big guilty aching conscience of yours."

"So..."

"Only time you don't feel the need to constantly blabber on isn't it?"

"So you can't sleep with me, does that mean you still want to...you know..." and he tries to make a few hand gestures but owing to the fact that he's still tied up all he can do is rotate his wrists.

The Master sighs, "Yes, that's what I'm saying."

The Doctor gives him a huge grin, "I think I can manage that."

The Master smirks back, eyeing the restraints, he's been dying to try out some bandage with the Doctor, this isn't ideal but it will have to do. He advances on the Doctor, which of course is that exact minute his tie decides to snap and free him.

The Master huffs out an annoyed breath, he has no manner of luck at all.


End file.
